


I hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

by Heath17_KO5



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Background Preath - Freeform, Don't copy to another site, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heath17_KO5/pseuds/Heath17_KO5
Summary: Starting with the Utah/Portland game from last Friday and going just past the disastrous Portland/North Carolina game.Emily Sonnett makes some bad decisions and comes to some realizations that require a whole lot of thinking and some taking things seriously (something she's not very good at), and it might just change her entire relationship with her best friend.





	I hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea came to me last night and then it wouldn't leave me alone, so have my very first Soran fic with some talked about Preath. I suppose it's kind of my alternate universe theory as to why Sonny took a sudden social media hiatus. If you like it, please leave me a comment or a kudos. And a heads up for those who aren't into this sort of thing: it gets steamy towards the end.

The Christen tackle is reckless, but, honestly, it’s necessary. Christen is just so DAMN fast. There’s really no way to stop her that isn’t fouling her when she really gets going. Even Tobin will admit that. 

Emily doesn’t mean to go so hard, of course. She grabs before she’s even properly thought through her move, her initial focus 100% on the ball. Then, as if the universe has completely shifted focus with a snap of God’s fingers, she realizes the handful of Christen’s boob that she has and feels Christen falling into her. Christen her friend. Christen one of the sweetest people ever. Tobin’s Christen. 

Tobin’s going to kill her. 

She catches her, eases her to the ground. “My bad. Sorry Chris.” Pats her on the back. 

Christen isn’t the type to hold a grudge. She throws her hands up at the foul, makes sure it gets called, although Emily knows there’s no way it won’t. There’s no way she’s not getting a yellow. She knows before Christen is fully on the ground. 

It’s not her first ever yellow and it probably won’t be her last. 

She gets back in the game, shooting a quick apologetic look in Tobin’s direction. 

Tobin gives her a look that says they’re going to have a talk later, but for now they have a game to play, so Emily plays it. 

  
  


The Amy tackle is really not her best move. She isn’t thinking about second yellows. She’s thinking about how dangerous ARod can be on a run and how if she makes it to the box and gets a shot off there’s a good chance Utah will extend its lead and how she needs to get the ball, needs to stop the run, and needs to do it before they reach the box so it doesn’t end up being a penalty kick. 

It’s not really THAT hard of a push. Okay, it’s harder than she meant it to be, and Amy goes down kind of hard, and Emily is leaping over her, praying to God that her cleats land solidly on turf instead of Amy as she comes down because the last thing she wants is to actually hurt someone. 

She sort of expects the second yellow, issued as her heart sinks, knowing the red is about to be pulled and that means that her team will be down a man for the rest of the game, knows she won’t be there to back them up against North Carolina, knows she’s screwed up. 

Emily does NOT expect the vitriol falling from Amy’s mouth as she comes at her, all heated anger and a level of defensiveness that Emily really doesn’t think is called for. She fouled Christen way worse, and Chris just shrugged it off. 

Then again, Christen knows her in a way that Amy doesn’t. 

Emily does her best to not make eye contact. She doesn’t want to challenge her while she’s so worked up. Instead she looks around for help. She tries to say, “I didn’t mean anything with it.” She tries to say, “it was just the heat of the game.”

Vero is pushing Amy away, telling her to calm down, telling her not to get her own card out of this, but not without a quick glare at Emily and a snide comment of her own that Emily can’t quite make out - doesn’t really want to. 

And Menges is tapping her on the shoulder, checking in, and Tobin and Sinc are rushing over, Tobin giving Vero a shove and yelling past her at Amy to back the hell off (and Emily doesn’t like that she’s the cause of friction between Tobin and Amy - she knows their history, she knows their bond - they’ll be okay after the match though...hopefully). 

Lindsey...Well, Lindsey gets there before Tobin manages to. She’s always quick to her side. Its what best friends do. Lindsey gives Vero and Amy the initial shove away. Lindsey lets Tobin and Sinc take over and stays by Emily, taps her arm, lets her know she’s there. Lindsey gets between herself and Amy in case Amy decides to circle back. Something familiar clenches in Emily’s chest, but now is not the time to deal with it. It’s never the right time to deal with it. 

Emily shoves it down and checks in with the ref before heading off the field. 

She’s vaguely aware of Amy being issued her own yellow, Amy still yelling somewhere on the field behind her, still worked up to a level Emily hadn’t expected. She tries to block it out, getting a pat on the arm from Mark, getting a “leave it on the field”. 

She puts on a pinny and finds a seat on the bench and crosses her fingers that her reckless tackle doesn’t cost Portland the game. 

  
  


There’s a tension in the air, hovering there. That’s why Lindsey so obviously overreacts, Emily tells herself. It’s the heat of the game. It’s the start of a proper rivalry, maybe (though with Christen on one team and Tobin on the other, Emily doesn’t know how heated the rivalry can really get). Rivalries are good. Rivalries get people invested. Rivalries get butts in the seats and more butts in seats means good things for the league. 

It’s definitely not just because of her, Emily tells herself. 

She replays the shove in her head as she watches the ref write up the yellow for Lindsey. 

Amy didn’t even have the ball. They weren’t even involved in the play. 

Lindsey had just...shoved. Hard. So hard, anger etched on her face. 

Anger that’s still there. Anger that’s matched by Amy. 

And Lindsey...Lindsey so obviously doesn’t care about the yellow. She doesn’t care about the way Amy is mocking her and yelling. She gives right back. 

Emily hears, “You wannna fight?” leave Lindsey’s lips. 

And, okay, Lindsey can have a temper in the game, but that’s...It’s…

_ Oh. _

Lindsey’s eyes flare and then her gaze meets Emily’s across the field and Emily knows. In that moment she knows and it feels like someone has pulled the ground out from under her. It feels like she’s fallen halfway down a steep cliff and she’s managed to catch a branch, but the branch is cracking and she still can’t see the bottom and she’s terrified to fall, but can’t quite work out how to climb back up either. 

_ Oh, _ she thinks again because it’s the only clear thought that her brain seems capable of forming right now. 

It’s completely because of her. There is no other reason in Lindsey’s head right now. 

She wonders if Lindsey realizes it too. 

  
  


Emily really wants to talk to her. 

No, she NEEDS to talk to her.

But Mark wants a chat and Tobin wants a chat (and an apology) and Sinc gives her a chat combined with a pep talk. Plus she really needs to apologize officially to Christen and Amy. And then there’s Lindsey…

Lindsey is in the showers quickly and gone even quicker. Even Ellie and Caitlin are surprised. 

Maybe she doesn’t know, Emily considers. Maybe it’s normal. Maybe she’s reading too much into it. 

(She’s not, she knows.)

“She have a hot date tonight or something?” she jokes. “Russel come to the game?” 

Ellie gives her a look, one that she can’t quite read, as she informs her, “They split again. You didn’t know? Lindsey broke it off last week.” 

(She knows for sure, down in the very fibers of her being. It’s unsettling in a way she hadn’t anticipated.)

She needs to think. She needs a plan. 

She needs (and this isn’t really her forte) to be careful and thoughtful and SERIOUS about this. 

This has the potential to be very dangerous and very bad in oh-so-many ways. 

  
  


She resists the urge to text Lindsey. 

She goes straight to bed at the hotel, pleading exhaustion. It was a rough game and nobody questions it. Besides, there’s early travel tomorrow. 

Lindsey is nowhere to be found. Probably already in her room. 

Emily doesn’t check. She doesn’t knock. She goes to her room, gets ready for bed, and puts on her headphones, but sleep eludes her, her brain racing a mile a minute.

The fouls play over and over in her mind. The cards. The anger. The confusion. A million different ways tonight could have gone play out in her head. 

And Lindsey. 

Lindsey’s eyes, full of fire. Lindsey’s body tense, braced for a fight. Lindsey’s protectiveness. 

Emily rolls over again and again, but she can’t find a comfortable spot to sleep in and the blankets are alternatingly too hot and too cold, and the pillow is just too hard, and it’s almost dawn before an uneasy sleep finally takes her. 

  
  


There’s not too much chatter on the way to the airport, and Caitlin sits next to her, so sitting next to Lindsey isn’t really an option. Lindsey’s having a serious talk with Tobin anyway. 

Emily tries to joke. She likes to make people laugh. She’s good at it. 

Usually. 

She gets giggles as she does a silly dance and full on laughter as she cracks a few jokes as they check in, but her heart isn’t in it. Her motions feel robotic. 

Lindsey doesn’t laugh as loud as she normally does, but Emily feels her eyes on her like a weight pressing against her. 

Lindsey has to feel it too, this profound shift, shattering the solid ground beneath their feet. 

A fan spots them once they’re through security and Emily’s smile brightens into something almost real. She loves the fans. They have some of the best fans. 

This one wants to know if she’s okay, and the concern is touching. She feels the need to alleviate it, to stress that she’s fine, to let everyone know that. 

(It doesn’t matter if it’s the furthest thing from the truth. This fan doesn’t need to know that.)

Tobin snags the free seat next to her on the plane, and Emily has never been more appreciative of her calm presence beside her. Tobin’s always a little melancholy flying away from Christen, and honestly that mood suits Emily today just fine. 

“Promise next time I’ll try not to foul your wife,” she manages a joke. 

Tobin gives her a look, then grins and shakes her head, patting Emily on the leg. “She doesn’t need me to defend her. Try it again, she might slide tackle you in retaliation.” 

Emily manages a grin in reply, but the words, “She doesn’t need me to defend her” stick in her brain and lodge in her throat, dry and uncomfortable, refusing to be swallowed away. She glances across the aisle to Lindsey who’s deep in conversation with Caitlin. 

As if she can feel Emily’s eyes on her, Lindsey looks up, but Emily looks away quickly, turning her gaze out the window. 

“You doing okay?” Tobin asks. Her eyes are far too knowing and Emily squirms in her seat. 

“Just still disappointed about how the game went,” Emily replies because it’s a safe answer and it’s one that she knows Tobin will understand. Tobin who walked back and forth kicking 11 corner kicks yesterday that they couldn’t do anything with. 

Tobin nods and puts in her airpods, leaning her head back against the headrest in a way that Emily knows mean she’s gearing up to just chill for a bit. 

Emily sneaks another glance across at Lindsey, and this time it’s Lindsey that looks away, a puzzled frown on her face. 

They could talk - SHOULD talk. 

She could ask Caitlin to move. 

She could ask Tobin to switch seats with Lindsey. 

But Emily doesn’t know what she’d say, and it’s important, she thinks, that she know before she starts this conversation. 

She leans back and looks out the window and urges her brain to shut off, to just enjoy the flight, to rest. 

It ignores her. 

  
  


They’ve always been kind of flirty. Always. From the very beginning. It’s just how they’ve always interacted. By the time Emily had worked out that she wasn’t really kidding around every time she commented on one of Lindsey’s instagram pictures with heart eyes or a fire emoji or called her “my love”, it would have been weird to change her behavior. 

Knowing that she has feelings for Lindsey and realizing that Lindsey might well have feelings back, though, are two very different things, and Emily isn’t sure she can handle the latter. 

There’s so much to screw up. They’re best friends. They’re teammates. They’re doubly teammates, both in Portland and with the national team. Their off-field chemistry translates to on-field success. If she messes with that balance…

She can’t mess with that balance. 

Can she? 

There’s so much at stake, so much she could lose. Not just a game. Not just her spot on the field for the remaining minutes of a match. 

The anxiety eats away at her in a way she’s not used to. She likes to think that she’s a fairly upbeat person, fairly happy-go-lucky. It’s something that she and Kelley have in common, and part of why they get along so well. 

Right now she doesn’t feel like that person at all. 

She picks up her phone, not for the first time today, and her thumb hovers over first the twitter icon, then the instagram icon. She touches neither in the end, hitting the spotify one instead. What if Lindsey has posted something? Will she be able to respond like always? If she doesn’t will Lindsey notice? What if she posts something and Lindsey responds? 

(What if Lindsey doesn’t?)

Maybe she needs a social media cleanse. Not long term, but just while she figures things out. No one is really going to miss her dumb videos anyway, right? Besides, just because she has to sit out next game doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to train in the meantime. Playoffs are coming up fast. She should be focusing on soccer and nothing else. 

She searches through her playlists, but each one brings up different memories of Lindsey. Her and Lindsey choreographing dances with Rose. Her and Lindsey giggling on the bus as they share headphones. Her and Lindsey texting each other across the room from each other while the rest of the team watches movies in between them. Her and Lindsey hugging at Worlds, knowing that when they flew home it would be as champions. 

She starts a playlist she simply calls “NEW” and hopes that maybe it’s a start. 

  
  
  


Practice is weird. She wishes it was just because she’s not focussed on as much because she’s not going to be playing against North Carolina but it’s not. She can keep limber on the sides and run drills and keep up energy and help her team. That’s not the issue. 

Things just aren’t clicking right, though. Sure they’re tired from the Friday game and the midweek game will be there before they know it, but that’s not it either. 

Passes that would normally connect aren’t connecting. Runs that would usually lead to something aren’t. 

Emily feels like her confusion and her frustration at herself has somehow rubbed out and infected everyone. It’s disconcerting. 

Worst of all, Lindsey barely makes eye contact with her all practice, practically hiding behind a wall of Aussies any time there’s any opportunity for her and Emily to interact. Their handshake, now a traditional part of both games and practice, doesn’t happen and it makes it feel like the whole world is tilted slightly off axis. 

Emily throws out a few jokes at first, but as they fall flat she stops trying and puts her head down and practices. 

At the end, she skips the ice baths and the locker room conversation and heads home, her brain too noisy for the music she puts on to drown out until she grabs a soccer ball, heads out back and kicks it over and over against the wall surrounding the yard. The bangs echo satisfyingly around the space and only then, throwing herself into each and every kick with everything she has, does her brain quiet a little. 

She takes a long hot shower when she finally goes back inside and ices her left hamstring which feels a little tight and then she pulls out her phone and pulls up her chat history with Lindsey. Nothing since the game. 

It’s perhaps the most obvious evidence of the uncomfortable shift between them. Lindsey went from getting ready to fight someone for her to almost disappearing from her life in the blink of an eye and Emily feels the change drifting further in a direction she doesn’t want. She needs to do something soon, or this is going to become a lasting problem and she’ll end up losing her best friend anyway. 

Maybe Lindsey is just as terrified as she is by the possibility of feelings. Maybe she’s just weighing pros and cons like Emily has been doing in her head almost nonstop since she realized. 

(Maybe Lindsey somehow doesn’t know that Emily feels it too, has always felt it, fell first and probably hardest.) 

Emily doesn’t text her. She doesn’t check instagram. She doesn’t check twitter. 

She tosses her phone across her bed and flops back, her head hitting her pillow with a deep thud. 

Why does life have to be so very complicated? 

  
  


She goes to dinner with Tobin because at least she can rely on Tobin to not post about it on social media and because she’s tired of keeping her thoughts to herself. 

Tobin must sense that something is up because she keeps conversation light and she leaves plenty of space for Emily to bring up what’s bothering her. 

“You and Chris…” Emily finally starts when they’re most of the way through their meal. 

Tobin raises an eyebrow at her, but waits for her to continue. 

“When it started...was it weird?”

Tobin studies her for a long moment, and Emily is already regretting bringing this up. She should have just kept things to herself. She’ll work it out on her own. 

Eventually. 

“Yes and no,” Tobin finally answers, clearly choosing her words carefully. “At first I didn’t know if she felt about me the way I felt about her, and then when I did, when we both knew...We’re best friends, too, so we were careful. Cautious, I guess. Plus we’re teammates and then half the time we’re not teammates. It can be tricky. Communication is key. There’s one person I know I can always talk to about anything and that’s Chris, so at the end of the day, if we have an issue, if we’re worried or stressed or whatever...We just talk.”

Emily forces a grin. “You talk. Miss I’d Prefer To Talk With My Feet.”

Tobin chuckles. “The irony isn’t lost on me. Chris has a way of knowing what I’m trying to say, though, even if I’m not the most eloquent at expressing it.”

Emily nods, then, and bites her lower lip. She gets what Tobin’s saying. She’s seen it in action. “I think you do okay,” she replies quietly. 

“It’s weird. Being with your best friend, especially when you have a job like ours...It’s not easy, but at the same time it’s the easiest thing in the world. You just have to figure out how to make it work for you.”

Emily nods again. 

Tobin’s words follow her all the way home and keep her tossing and turning that night. 

_ You just have to figure out how to make it work for you. _

She mouths the question that won’t leave her alone into the still, dark air of her bedroom. “What if I can’t?” 

  
  


_ Ready to play dress up? _ The text is followed up by the dancing girl emoji and it catches Emily off-guard. 

It’s the most direct communication they’ve had in days. Not like they haven’t talked at practice, but there are always other people around. It hasn’t been just the two of them. 

Emily swallows hard. She thinks of when they’d talked about the banquet weeks ago she was supposed to get ready with Lindsey and Ellie and Caitlin. Instead Britt is helping her pick out a dress and touch up her eyeliner. 

_ Bring on the party! _ She texts back, adding a balloon emoji after it for good measure. She has a speech to make tonight. She has to be on stage tonight. Everyone is going to be there. She won’t be able to fade into the shadows. She’ll be expected not to. 

All she can focus on, though, is how any other time she’d be killing it on instagram posting stories of everyone looking all fancy and joking it up with Lindsey, and tonight she’s barely touched her phone. 

When she and Britt are done getting ready, Emily forces her best smile and looks in the mirror. It almost looks right. Maybe by the time they get there it’ll look even more genuine. 

  
  


She poses for as few pictures as possible, and she’s not sure if people notice, but the only one who comments on it is Tobin, who has a tendency to eschew the camera anyway (unless she’s the one holding it), so Emily doesn’t feel the need to defend her choices. She’s focussing on her role tonight, the reason that she’s there. She’s focussing on smiling at her teammates and some of the Thorns guys she’s formed friendships with provide her with easy conversation, relaxing the tightness in her chest and the tension in her shoulders until the smile that graces her face isn’t forced and her laughter falls almost freely. 

She catches sight of Lindsey as soon as she arrives. How could she not when she’s wearing that bright red jumpsuit with the spaghetti straps that show off her shoulders and the black heels that make her ass look just so -

No. She needs to not think like that tonight, no matter how much she wants to run her fingers through Lindsey’s flowing hair or stare into those blue-green eyes that pop all the more with the eye makeup she has on. 

She makes it through her part and manages to make people laugh just like she planned. Her eyes only linger on Lindsey a moment too long at one point, so she’ll consider that a win really. 

It feels like a step in the right direction when Lindsey finds her after she’s on stage and says, “You look really good tonight.” 

Emily’s smile feels the most real it has in days, as she ducks her head shyly, and answers, “Thanks. You too.”

There’s a weight to her words and they hang in the air between them, heavy and charged until Caitlin rocks up and throws an arm around Emily and says, “You’re looking smoking, babes! What a snack!”

Lindsey laughs and nods, but her eyes don’t quite meet Emily’s again. 

It’s almost easy. 

It almost feels right. 

Almost isn’t going to cut it, though. She can tell. 

  
  


The atmosphere come game day is off. There’s a tension in the air that makes Emily uneasy. The team’s warm ups are pretty standard and they look mostly okay, but it doesn’t feel right, and from the uneasy shifting of her teammates around her, she can tell she’s not the only one who feels it. 

On their end of the field, North Carolina is looking like a well-oiled machine, running through stretches and warm ups easily. 

Emily offers Sammy a small wave, and Sammy grins back enthusiastically, but Emily can’t force a big smile today. She’s filled with far too much apprehension. 

“Good luck out there,” she tells Lindsey as she heads out onto the field for the huddle, her feet itching to be shoved into boots and follow her out there. 

Lindsey manages a small smile and a nod. 

When she leaves the huddle she finds Emily on the sidelines and before Emily realizes exactly what’s happening, she’s doing their handshake. 

Emily catches up quickly, but she notes the way there’s no smile on Lindsey’s face and wonders if maybe the small progress she felt on Monday wasn’t really progress at all. 

  
  


The game starts poorly and it doesn’t get better. 

Emily can’t just see the frustration on her teammates’ faces, she can feel it radiating off of them in waves. 

One thought keeps running through her head as she watches North Carolina score a third goal, a brace for Lynn Williams, and for the first time in days it has nothing to do with Lindsey. 

“I should be out there,” she finally mutters, the words escaping into the air around her and falling, unheard, into nothingness. She tugs her white baseball cap down a little lower over her eyes, shifting her footing. She can’t sit. She tried it right at the start until Caitlin put her hand down solidly on her wildly bouncing leg in annoyance, and she’s been standing on the sideline ever since. 

Halftime locker room talks are full of half-hearted assurances that they can still bounce back, they need to work on connections in the final third, finishing runs they start, the defense needs to be tighter, stronger, work together, not just individually. AD needs help, as good a goalie as she is. 

“Don’t let being behind a few goals get in your head,” Sinc advises, but Emily can tell it’s already in hers, and Tobin looks about ready to punch a locker. 

Lindsey looks her way, and the dejectedness in her eyes makes Emily’s heart ache. 

“Let’s go kick some Homophobic Hinkle ass!” Emily attempts at a cheer just before they head back out. “Beat the Courage! Beat the Courage!”

It earns her a few chuckles, an earnest “Yeah!” from Kling, and a smile from Lindsey that makes her heart beat a little bit faster. 

  
  
  


The second half somehow goes worse than the first, even though North Carolina scores the same number of goals. Lindsey earns a yellow card in the 58th minute and this one has nothing to do with Emily. Williams gets her hat trick, in the 68th, North Carolina’s fifth goal, and Emily has to force herself not to hang her head. 

When Lindsey comes off the field, Emily can’t remember ever having seen her look so upset. She moves to sit next to her because things might be awkward between them right now, but sometimes you just need your best friend anyway. 

They don’t talk as they watch the rest of the game and Emily knows that Lindsey, like herself, is forcing herself to watch every last minute of this absolute embarrassment as if paying penance to some soccer god who has decided to punish them, maybe for their behavior against Utah, maybe for something else entirely. 

When the final whistle blows there’s little relief that the scoreline isn’t any worse, knowing that 6-0 is the biggest loss margin in their team’s history and they’ve lost their spot at the top of the standings along with it. 

Everyone looks dejected. Everyone looks defeated. Everyone looks heartbroken. 

Somehow AD manages to smile at the kids with the roses, to find a little cheer that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Emily has never seen her have such a rough night in goal, and yet she manages to be there for the fans in a way that Emily has to admire. She finds it inspiring really. 

Maybe that’s why she goes onto the field where Tobin is sitting, head hanging, body slumped. Emily knows she’s beating herself up mentally. She knows she’s replaying every touch to the ball she had, thinking about how it could have been better, how the connections that were missed should have been found, how her hustles could have been faster, her dribbling could have been tidier, her passes could have been cleaner. Emily knows because she’s played that game with herself before after a bad match. 

She goes to Tobin and she reaches out for her. Tobin looks up at Emily’s hand, then looks back at the turf and shakes her head. There’s a heaviness in her actions as if she’s barely holding it together and it breaks Emily’s heart to see because Tobin is absolutely one of the strongest people she knows. 

“Come on,” Emily encourages, bending down to grab Tobin’s hand and lifting it herself, smacking her other hand against it in the most forced high five to ever exist. 

It brings the hint of a smile to Tobin’s face. Just a flash of one that’s gone almost before Emily can register it, but a smile nonetheless. 

“There we go,” Emily says, smiling a small grin of her own. 

Tobin rolls her eyes, but a minute later she finds it in her to get to her feet. 

“So that kinda sucked,” Emily offers. 

Tobin lets out a snort of bitter laughter. “Kinda a lot,” she agrees. 

“So we regroup. We refocus. We work our asses off. Next time we’re better.” Emily tries not to let her guilt seep through that she hadn’t been on the field to help her team. 

Tobin nods half-heartedly and Emily knows she’ll be out there hitting practice as hard as anyone over the next nine days. 

“You done with your regrouping?” Tobin asks when they’re almost off the field. 

The question catches Emily off-guard and leaves her standing there, mouth hanging open, just for a few seconds. “I - What do you - I’m not sure -”

But Tobin doesn’t wait for an answer. 

Emily searches out Lindsey’s face in the crowd and her heart breaks all over again. 

This time the guilt overwhelms her, and as soon as she can she leaves without another word to anyone. 

  
  
  


The knock at the door is sharp and loud and unexpected. It’s also impatient, she finds out as three more raps on the door ring out before she’s made it halfway to it. 

Lindsey looks a little dishevelled. She definitely didn’t take the time to blow dry her hair, and she’s obviously been running her fingers through it way too much in that way that she does when she’s stressed out. Her eyes are rimmed a little red and there’s not a touch of makeup on her face, and despite it all, she’s still breathtaking. 

Her eyes almost seem to glow bathed in the yellow light that spills out of the door from Emily’s kitchen as they flit back and forth between Emily’s eyes. Lindsey shifts uncomfortably, and Emily realizes that she still hasn’t said anything. 

“Hi,” Emily says. 

“Hi,” Lindsey answers, and her voice is a little raspy. 

Emily can’t really think of anything else to say (even though there are far too many things that she knows need to be said), and they’re still both just awkwardly standing there in the doorway, so Emily steps back, a wordless invitation for Lindsey to enter. 

Lindsey walks in and shuts the door behind her, but she doesn’t come any further inside and it’s so very weird because Lindsey has been in her apartment so many times, she’s moved around it as if it was her own, yet here she is standing there like she’s not sure she’s really allowed to be there. 

Emily bites her lower lip to stop herself from blurting out something stupid, and when her eyes go to meet Lindsey’s she sees that her gaze has dropped to her lips in response. Emily swallows hard as if she could swallow away the wall of tension between them. 

It doesn’t help. 

Lindsey’s eyes come back up to meet hers, and Emily feels like it’s on her to fix this somehow, to make this not awkward. Maybe she should start with an apology. 

Or a drink offer. A drink sounds really good right about now. 

She’s about to clear her throat and ask if Lindsey wants something, but before she can Lindsey is surging forward, her hand coming up to cup her cheek, her lips soft and warm and needy falling against hers. 

All of the air leaves Emily’s lungs and she feels lightheaded as warmth floods through her, but just as quickly as the kiss had started, it stops, Lindsey pulling away, her eyes wide, her fingers at her lips. 

She’s looking at Emily like she’s just sprouted two heads. Or maybe, more accurately, like she’s worried that she herself just sprouted two heads. 

And,  _ oh _ . There it is. 

Emily feels the tension that’s been pressing on her chest for days now start to dissipate, replaced by an overwhelming longing, a need, a determination. 

Without consciously doing so, she knows she’s made a decision, and she feels lighter and lighter as it settles into her being. 

_ Yeah _ , she thinks, answering Tobin’s earlier question to herself,  _ I’m done regrouping _ . 

_ Find what works for you, _ she thinks. And that...that worked for her. That worked for her on so many levels. 

But Lindsey’s still standing there, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. Her mouth opens and shuts, and Emily knows her well enough (has always known her well enough, she realizes) to see the apology coming a mile off. It’s not one that needs to be said, or even thought, though, so Emily cuts her off the first way she thinks of. 

Lindsey’s lips are soft and her breath is sweet and Emily’s hands fall to Lindsey’s hips as she backs her into the wall like it’s the most natural place in the world for them to be. Their bodies slot together just right as Lindsey gasps into her mouth and her fingers tangle in Emily’s hair while her other hand presses firmly on Emily’s spine holding her in place (as if Emily would ever consider going anywhere other than into Lindsey’s arms right now). 

A little moan escapes the back of Lindsey’s throat as Emily swipes her tongue into her mouth, and Emily feels it through her whole body, curling tight in her abdomen. The way Lindsey kisses her back is desperate and needy, like her life depends on their continued kissing, and Emily strokes her fingers slowly over Lindsey’s hip bone, teasing under the fabric of her T-shirt, pressing in more firmly. She tells Lindsey with her hands and her body and her tongue that she’s got no intention of going anywhere until Lindsey’s kissing settles into something a little more languid and a lot more dirty. 

A few minutes later Lindsey bites Emily’s lower lip before finally breaking the kiss, leaving both of them breathing heavily. She rests her forehead against Emily’s, her voice low and raspy in a way that makes Emily wet as she murmurs, “I missed you, Dasani,” against Emily’s lips. 

Emily laughs the most genuine laugh she has in days, and when she meets Lindsey’s gaze, she sees an answering smile in her eyes. 

Yes, this is going to work for them just fine, Emily thinks as she kisses Lindsey again. 

  
  


They fall into bed together like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like they’ve done it hundreds of times before, like doing so doesn’t have the potential to rock both of their lives to the core. 

It’s not until they’re both naked and Lindsey is above her, the weight of her body pressing down between her legs in a way that has her bucking her hips for a bit more friction, Lindsey’s fingers grazing against the side of her breast, teasing towards her nipple, that Emily stops, takes a moment, and just marvels that she’s getting to do this after so long of knowing, even accepting, that this was just a fantasy she’d play for herself in the dark of night when nobody else was around. Lindsey kisses her jaw and then her throat and then just behind her ear, leaving small wet marks as she goes and a tingling sensation that burns all the way down to Emily’s core. 

She must sense Emily’s stillness then, because she pushes up a bit and looks down at her, blonde hair falling into her face, blue-green eyes darker than Emily’s ever seen them, a look of pure lust on her face that softens when she takes in Emily’s expression to something closer to another L word that Emily dares not think yet. Not before they’ve had so much as a conversation about what it is they’re doing. 

“You okay?” Lindsey asks. 

“Never better Linessi,” Emily assures her with a smug grin, reaching up to cup Lindsey’s cheek and pulling her back in for a long, slow kiss. 

Lindsey chuckles into her mouth, but then Emily’s tongue swipes into her mouth and the chuckle turns into a low groan. The pad of Lindsey’s thumb brushes past her nipple and she gasps, arching into the touch. 

She does it again, pressing a little harder this time, kissing a path down Emily’s throat. Emily brings a hand up to tangle in Lindsey’s hair, to hold her against her collarbone as Lindsey nips and licks there.

Lindsey lavishes attention first to one boob and then the other using her fingers and then her mouth, wrapping her lips tightly around one nipple at a time, sucking at them, flicking her tongue against them, and Emily feels wetness pooling between her legs, knows she’s ridiculously turned on right now. 

Emily’s wanted this for longer than she’d admit. She’s imagined it, even, touching herself to embarrassingly quick orgasms in the wee hours of the morning when daytime seems like something strange and foreign and all the thoughts she’s so good at pushing out during the day sneak in and make themselves at home. 

The reality of it, though, is so much better than she’s ever imagined. Lindsey hasn’t even touched her anywhere that she needs it and already she’s so close. 

Lindsey’s fingers feel like fire as they dance along her skin, trailing down her stomach, glancing over her hips, brushing against the tops of her thighs. It’s like intensely amazing torture, but if Lindsey doesn’t touch her properly soon she might just scream. 

Lindsey shifts above her and her fingers put a bit of pressure just above her knee, making her legs spread a bit wider, as her mouth continues to lavish attention across Emily’s chest and throat and jaw, and it’s just so much and not enough at the same time. 

“Fuck, Linds, just -” 

Lindsey’s fingers trace slow circles on her inner thigh, moving higher with each one, and Emily bucks up in frustration. 

“Just what?” Lindsey teases, her voice low and husky in Emily’s ear, her breath falling hotly against her face. She flicks her tongue against Emily’s earlobe and Emily shudders beneath her. 

“Fucking, please,” Emily asks as Lindsey’s fingers press achingly close to where she needs them. 

“Please what?”

And honestly it shouldn’t surprise her, with how much they tease each other in any other situation, that it translates to the bedroom. 

“Fuck, just fuck me already, Lindsey.” 

Lindsey lets out a small gasp as if she hadn’t really expected Emily to blurt it out like that, and her eyes are dark and hooded as she looks down at her with so much raw sexual energy Emily’s not entirely sure that she’s not going to come without ever being touched properly at all. 

And then Lindsey IS touching her properly and her head slams back into the pillow and her back arches off the bed and Lindsey is pressing into her with two fingers and Emily just loses focus of anything but the feelings coursing through her. 

Their kisses are sloppy and her hands grip needily at Lindsey’s back and she just feels SO MUCH everywhere. 

“God, I’m going to- I’m so close, I’m gonna -”

“Come for me, Em,” she coaxes, her thumb rubbing across Emily’s clit, and Emily’s gone, tumbling over the edge, stars exploding behind her eyes, body shaking. 

Lindsey stays with her, bringing her down slowly, kissing gentle kisses across her cheek, her jaw, behind her ear, then moving to her lips when Emily is able to focus enough to kiss her back. 

“Woah,” Emily breathes out. 

“Yeah,” Lindsey agrees, nodding her forehead against Emily’s. 

“You called me Em,” Emily finally registers. 

Lindsey breaks into a grin so beautiful that Emily has no choice but to kiss it right off of her. 

  
  


Later (a long while later), their bodies spent and satisfied, they curl up together, barely able to move. Emily’s eyes are closing before she consciously gives them permission to. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice is telling her that they’re probably going to have to talk about things sometime soon. 

She’s vaguely aware, before she drifts off completely, of a blanket being tucked in around her, and she’s never felt warmer or more content. 

There’s a firm weight as Lindsey’s arm is draped around her that she knows for sure is there as she snuggles into the touch. There’s a faint kiss to her forehead that she’s fairly certain she didn’t imagine. There’s a whispered, “God, I love you,” that she’s relatively sure she dreams. 

  
  


Emily wakes up feeling warm and safe and…

Naked. 

Yep, she is very definitely naked.

And not alone. 

Emily’s mind takes a minute to brush away the cobwebs of sleep and then it takes a couple more minutes to replay the events of the night before, and then, just to make sure it was real and not just a really vivid dream, she turns as carefully as she can, doing her best not to wake the other occupant of her bed. 

“Woah,” she can’t stop from slipping out as she sees Lindsey asleep beside her and very definitely also naked. 

Not a dream, then. 

She takes in Lindsey’s peaceful face, the small contented smile that’s gracing her lips, the open, relaxed expression. She’s so fucking beautiful Emily isn’t quite sure she can handle it. She’s seen her first thing in the morning before, of course she has, but this is different. This is after a night of touching her in ways she’d never dreamed she’d get to. This is after working out just what to do to elicit the perfect moans and groans from Lindsey. This is…

...potentially incredibly awkward. 

Coffee. She needs coffee. Then she’ll be able to think properly. 

She goes to move out of Lindsey’s arms as slowly as she can, but of course she stirs, those gorgeous eyes of hers fluttering open, a mesmerizing mix of blue and green so that Emily can’t even decide fully what color to call them. 

“Hey,” Lindsey’s voice is low and hoarse and, God, so fucking sexy. 

“Hi,” Emily replies, feeling heat rising in her cheeks. Maybe it’s stupid to be blushing after everything they did last night, but with daylight creeping in around the blinds and illuminating them in ways they hadn’t had to deal with last night, Emily feels exposed and self-conscious and more than a little nervous. She scoots over, out of Lindsey’s arms, sits up, and pulls the sheet up to her chest, as if Lindsey’s fingers and mouth hadn’t explored every inch of skin she’d had on display mere hours ago. 

Lindsey sits up a little more slowly, blinking hard, mimicking Emily’s actions of covering up with the sheet. There’s still a large expanse of her back and side and just a hint of side boob visible and Emily can’t stop her eyes from trailing up it slowly, so that when she finally makes eye contact with Lindsey, there’s a pretty blush gracing her cheeks as well. 

Emily lets out a nervous laugh, and Lindsey joins her, shaking her head and looking at Emily with an expression like she can’t believe she’s really there. 

There’s no real way that Emily can see that she can get out of bed and get some clothes on without either exposing herself or leaving Lindsey exposed, so in the end she goes for a sort of dive off the side of the bed, landing with far too hard of a thud on the floor and half dragging the sheet and blankets with her. 

Lindsey yelps, and then her head appears over the side of the bed while Emily is still trying to untangle her legs from a blanket and she’s doing a poor job of biting back laughter. “You okay?” she asks.

Emily grabs at a blanket and wraps it around her self-consciously, inching towards her dresser as she does so. “Yep. Fine. Definitely don’t have a sore hip now.” 

Lindsey sits back up and shakes her head again, her eyes following Emily across the room with a mixture of affection and something that Emily can’t quite read written across her face. 

Emily grabs the first shirt she can find and throws it on, letting the blanket drop as she does so. She finds underwear quickly after that and pulls it on, and then she feels a little more prepared to face Lindsey and whatever conversations need to be had this morning. 

She looks back at Lindsey a little sheepishly, and it hits her that Lindsey is still very much naked in her bed. 

“Right, um…” Emily turns back around and ruffles through her drawer until she finds another oversized T-shirt that she’s sure will fit Lindsey and she tosses it to her. “I’m just gonna go, um...make some coffee and pee and...stuff,” she says, turning back around and leaving the room before she can make an even bigger fool of herself. 

  
  


Emily sends an emergency text to Tobin, not bothering to check the time or think about what kind of mindset Tobin might be in today after the disastrous game last night or anything because she needs SOMEBODY else to know so that she can maybe stop internally panicking. 

_ I slept with Lindsey. She’s probably gonna kill me when she finds out I told you. RIP me. _

She puts on some coffee then picks her phone back up and sends another text  _ SOS. What do I do?? Did you panic after you and Christen finally hooked up? _

She’s not sure she really expects a text back, but she feels minutely better for having sent them. 

Food, she thinks. They need some food. She opens the fridge and frowns. There’s nothing in there to make any sort of elaborate breakfast. She wasn’t anticipating entertaining this morning, after all. 

She’s got bananas, though. And she always keeps peanut butter, almond milk, yoghurt, and cinnamon on hand. Two Miss Kelley Specials coming up. She gets out her mini blender and starts to add the ingredients when Lindsey clears her throat behind her. 

She freezes, suddenly painfully aware of Lindsey’s eyes on her. 

“So that was...new,” Lindsey says. 

Emily turns then, and, God, is everything she does sexy? How can she look so fucking sexy leaning against the wall wearing nothing but Emily’s T-shirt and some underwear. Emily’s eyes trail down over Lindsey’s legs, then she snaps them back up when she realizes she still hasn’t responded. “Yep,” she manages, her voice coming out a bit hoarse. 

Lindsey bites her lower lip and looks at Emily through long lashes, and Emily’s not sure she’s ever wanted to kiss her more, but she’s not sure if that’s okay right now in this moment. Everything she was sure of last night feels uncertain in the cold light of day. 

“And good,” Lindsey adds.

Emily can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face at those words. “Yep,” she repeats, but with more confidence this time. 

“And clearly I like you for your way with words,” Lindsey teases, pushing off the wall and taking a step towards her. 

Emily lets out a small laugh, her smile growing even wider as Lindsey’s words settle warmly in her chest. “You like me?” 

Lindsey reaches out and tugs on Emily’s shirt until she steps into her as she says, “Was that not obvious with the whole sex thing?” 

Emily presses up and kisses her then, because she feels like she can and she wants to, and Lindsey kisses her back long and languid. 

“So you’re not straight then?” Emily asks when she pulls away. It seems a stupid question to ask after the last twelve hours, but she can’t help it, she needs the confirmation. 

“Be honest, did I ever seem completely straight to you?” Lindsey asks, looking skeptical. 

“Not even a little bit, but I didn’t want to ask,” Emily replies maybe a touch too honestly. 

“Why?”

“In case you were,” Emily tries to explain. Lindsey had been with Russel. And then she hadn’t and then she had again. Sure she called her and Caitlin and Ellie and others her loves and talked about them being hot or sexy, but it hadn’t meant anything, or Emily hadn’t thought it did. 

Lindsey throws her head back and laughs at Emily’s admission, and she’s still giggling and shaking her head when she leans back in for another kiss. 

“You’re an idiot,” gets sighed against Emily’s lips. 

“A happy one,” she replies, stealing another quick kiss before stepping away to make the smoothies. 

Lindsey comes up behind her and wraps a possessive arm around her waist. “You know, last night really sucked...until it didn’t.” 

Emily nods. She knows exactly what Lindsey means. The game, the loss, the emotions, and then...then them. 

“I texted Tobin,” she blurts out. “Today, I mean. About us.”

Lindsey chuckles into her shoulder. “Me too.”

“Oh, good. Well...Can’t wait to hear what she has to say about this.”

“Think she’ll be disapproving dad or supportive dad?” Lindsey asks. 

Emily laughs. “Supportive. Maybe. I think.”

  
  


They don’t have to wait long for an answer (though they’re too busy to check their phones when the message does come in, wrapped up in each other’s bodies, back in bed, the smoothies half drunk on the counter in the kitchen). 

The message reads simply:  _ It’s about time. Love you idiots. _

Emily laughs as she reads it aloud to Lindsey who kisses her bare shoulder. 

“Yeah, it really is,” Lindsey agrees. 

Emily couldn’t agree more. 


End file.
